its ok, kozmo. I didn’t have anything else to do today anyway.
its ok, kozmo. I didn’t have anything else to do today anyway.
In 2003, on the 4th of July, I tried to kill myself.
from that time:
“I feel pain, and I don’t know where to put it or what to do. I am also SO FUCKING ANGRY that I wanna blow up, tear up, the world sometimes. I am striving not to take that out on the people around me. I am striving for “alone time”. I am striving for…clarity. I cannot make up my mind about anything. Everything I could do now that is good, feels like my second choice in direction, and not a close second either, but a booby prize. And I don’t know if I can do all the things the world wants me to do and that I’m supposed to do, because I feel utterly exhausted even thinking about the smallest thing.”
Mopery! (I know mopery actually means something else.) I was utterly destroyed at the time. I had been in my worst, lowest kind of depression for months, and then began a long protracted breakup as well, that weekend.
It was one of the lowest times of my entire life. I lived through it, and it’s a little fresh today, so I won’t go into too much detail right now. But I will say that I have not tried again, my life has changed for the better, and my ability to weather down times has grown- and that I am glad I survived, and am here.
I wasn’t selfish- I was in pain. I wasn’t a coward- I was at the end of my rope. I know that if you have never been that far down, inside, you don’t understand that. I am glad that you don’t because it really is bad. Suicide, for some people at some times, is like a dog chewing off a leg to escape a trap.
I’m going to spend today, unlike every other year so far- nurturing the crap out of myself, instead of partying with my people. It’s a good day. I’m free, and I’m alive.
You guys, light a firecracker or ten for me. I’ll see you at the next shindig.
my mom says, “It’s not that bad things happen to good people.It’s that good things happen to bad people. That’s what gets me.”
When I was a kid, I stayed up all night and was exhausted every morning. I lay in bed, wide awake, waiting to sleep.
Now I don’t know for sure if it is a result of chemicals in my brain, anxiety from some trauma I have long forgotten, or just a natural state for me, but at night I am wide eyed and alert. I think clearly, I work better and harder, I thrive. When the sun comes up I begin to yawn, and I would, if I could, sleep always on a late-afternoon wake-up schedule.
I think there is some kind of name for this. I don’t know if it’s delayed sleep phases, or what. But, also, over time my sleep gets a tiny bit later, and later, and later. until I have come full circle and I wake up at 8 AM! I have tried every means to control this sleep mayhem and haven’t found a way yet.
Right now, I take ambien one night- lunesta the next- temazepam the next, then start over. I don’t want to get tolerant of my sleeping pills, I want them to keep working for me.
I guess the only reason I even try to make a day schedule or any normal one is that I like to be able to go to work and tattoo people! And I can’t wake up at 5pm and do much of that…
So I keep trying for a somewhat normal schedule. I’d love to go to sleep at three AM, wake up at noon. That’s nine whole hours. I usually get ten hours, but I could do with nine, right?
I mean, the hours I am awake I work, I do all the things anyone else would do in the daytime, in the morning.
If I could survive just selling non-tattoo artworks, I could stop fighting my sleep schedule, and maybe that would make a difference. But I don’t know for sure, I’ve never done that.
Well, here’s to all of you wide-eyed people under the stars. You’re not alone. If you have any advice, ideas, or experiences of your own with insomnia (especially lifelong insomnia) feel free to overload the comments below, I would love to hear about your sleep struggles.
It’ll be more fun than counting sheep, I promise.
Atheists tend to believe in the good nature of humanity, or the ability to make the world a better place, or willpower, or some such like. A lot of them enjoy viewing the Universe as a remarkable place full of wonder.
A lot of them want to build community, work together to improve life for everyone. Many are generous and kind, and think that empowerment of others is a good thing. Most atheists are dedicated to making this world, the only world they believe in, a better place in general.
I like atheists. I like them a lot. You can tell that a lot of them are optimistic about humanity’s chance to survive, about our ability as human beings to turn around the destructive forces within us. Forces like hate, religion, patriotism, racism. Most atheists I know want some kind of peace, some way to make it easier for human beings to work together.
They aso are very curious about the way the world functions, about the mechanics and the meaning of it all, in ways that religious people simply are not. Religions answer all the questions, without giving any explanation, and to question is heresy. For atheists, questioning and finding explanations is the purpose.
Did I say I like atheists? Because I really, really like them.
Anyway, I’m a bit more of a nihilist. I think the human race, as a species, is doomed to certain extinction, and sooner rather than later. I think that it’s already far too late to do anything like make vasectomies and abortion mandatory and oil and fossil fuels illegal; I think we have passed the window in which such drastic measures would have saved us. We’ve pretty much shitted this place up beyond repair.
The world will go on. The earth and whatever animals and plants manage to evolve to suit the coming changes. Humanity, on the other hand, I do not think will persevere. We haven’t destroyed the planet, only our own chances of surviving on it. If perhaps we’d been able to overcome our lizard-brains long enough to stop breeding and greeding, we might have staved it off.
I may be an old woman when this happens, or I may not live to see it. Or it could begin now, tomorrow, tonight. I have no way of knowing. But I will, as all humans do, live out my life. If that means a grim aeon in a cage or cell, so be it. If it means eating soylent green, ok then. If it means starving or being shot, well that’s what happens to some humans, right?
We’re all doomed to die. It’s a certainty. And we’re doomed to die OUT, as well.
People who are breeding, driving massive SUVs, cutting forests, and the like- well, technically that’s evil. If I believed in such a thing. What was once the highest purpose for most people- hoarding and breeding- is now the worst imaginable modern demon. Greed and narcissistic reproduction have been allowed to flourish until- now- we are all doomed.
All of this is not to say that I do not enjoy my life. My life is all there is, and right now, it’s enjoyable. I will always want to know what happens next, even if my doomsaying nature thinks it can’t possibly be anything good.
Also, it’s fun to watch atheists try. They would give me hope, if I believed in such a thing.
And yes I know- I’m not supposed to talk about what I really think or believe. I’m supposed to be mute, or at the very least neutral, or else nobody will want to buy my art.
I’m sorry- but Picasso was an avowed womanizer and plenty of conventionally-moral women hung his works in their home. Van Gogh publicly adored hookers, and now the middle class has bunches of sunflowers in their front rooms.
I feel that if someone likes my art, they like my art, and will buy it. If they don’t personally like me, it shouldn’t matter- it adds strength to the story behind the piece, actually. (“I got it from this eccentric crazypants”) And if people disagree with me, I suppose I will just starve, as most vocal artists tend to do.
It’s our punishment, you see. Society likes to watch us frustrated, poor, and suffering. They don’t like their artists rich, fat, and happy- they save that for people whose skill is in manipulating others, owning cheap labor. and moving it from place to place.
enough ranting, time to draw.
In the morning, I take the top row of pills, all of them, everyday.
That’s two 200mg seroquel, and two 40mg prozac capsules. And to the right, Chantix.
I take this as soon as I open my eyes. Sometimes (almost always) I stay in bed or maybe even go back to sleep for a bit; but it’s the first thing I do in the morning.
At night, I take one of the leftmost pills on the bottom row- I alternate them. One is lunesta, one is ambien, one is temazepam. I take a different one each night so they all keep working. And, along with that, I take my second chantix.
I’ve had insomnia as long as I can remember. The last year or so with these medicines, I have been able to fall asleep far easier and more consistently than ever before. Not that I don’t still sleep in, because I do. But at least I don’t stay up all night then sleep an hour or two- or sleep ALL day everyday.
Also, I’ve been smoking a pack a day every day for 28 years. I’ve gone through one pack in the last two days…so the chantix is helping. I still don’t know if it will work, if I will be able to quit completely, yet- but I am hopeful.
They’ve twice now completely destroyed art I was shipping. They have lost a package by sending it to the wrong town. and yet-
The woman at the local PO helps me. I have no idea how to even guess what mailing things will cost, so I go in there, and I pick her brain. She’s always busy and yet she always explains everything to me.
I’ve become a lot more organized because of her.
Living in a small town has its advantages. I go to the store, they know both my cigarette brand and whether I got coffee or tea. They pet my dog, and say hello. I don’t live right in town so I don’t have anyone intruding on me or involved in my daily life, so I pretty much have it easy here.
Off to the post office site now to write a rave review for my shipping guru.
(pictured: naked mole rat sculpture I am making for a friend, stage one)
I hung out a cheap, dollar-store hummingbird feeder yesterday.
My drawing table faces out of one of the big windows, so I figured I’d put the feeder hung there by a string tucked into the window. The feeder is right in front of me while I’m drawing, about a foot from me, on the other side of the glass. I kind of thought no bird would come to it- mainly because I am sitting right next to it cursing and breaking pencils- or at least it would take a while for a bird to find it.
I hung it up, and sat down to draw. Halfway through the first sketch a fast movement caught my eye- A BIRD HAD ALREADY ARRIVED. So tiny, it drank and then sat down. It looked at me a few times but seemed not to mind me.
This bird, and another like it, came to the feeder all day, off and on. About every half-hour they’d come back and guzzle then take off again. I got out my camera and got a few pictures of them.
And that is why I was distracted all day and only got half the drawing done I’d planned on.
just some photos of me on my days off.
nothing to see here, move along, move along.
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